


Death of a Bachelor

by punkjoly



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, It'll all make sense when you read it trust me, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, also T'Challa is in the story a lot because i love him and he deserves more attention, bucky is kind of a billionaire party boy and i'm not sorry, kind of? Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, steve is a doctor who runs a nonprofit free clinic thing because he has the biggest heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5610649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkjoly/pseuds/punkjoly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Veterans do not like fireworks. Simple as that. James "Bucky" Barnes was one of those such veterans. So it should have been very plain to see that hosting a New Year's Eve party at his own home was more than just a bad idea. It was a horrific idea, actually. Between his only friend not being able to attend, the drunk girls hanging all over him, and the incredibly loud booms of premature fireworks, the worst thing that happened to him this December 31st, 2015, though, was definitely him crashing his car into a lamp post in the middle of Brooklyn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death of a Bachelor

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time ever writing for this pairing so bear with me here. the details of the story and bucky's life btw are kind of vague in the first chapter but everything will be explained later on!!! i hope you guys like this!!!

       Veterans do not like fireworks. Simple as that. James "Bucky" Barnes was one of those such veterans. So it should have been very plain to see that hosting a New Year's Eve party at his own home was more than just a bad idea. It was a horrific idea, actually. Between his only friend not being able to attend, the drunk girls hanging all over him, and the incredibly loud booms of premature fireworks, the worst thing that happened to him this December 31st, 2015, though, was definitely him crashing his car into a lamp post in the middle of Brooklyn.

       In retrospect, fleeing his home at 11:40-ish the night of New Year's Eve was not the brightest thing he could have done. Especially while he was as drunk and anxiety ridden as he was. But Bucky didn't really have time to factor all of that into his much needed escape, because all he could think of were the blasts of bombs and not of fireworks and how desperately he needed to be alone in silence. This is what led to him driving from his luxurious condo in the center of Manhattan to somehow ending up in the most random part of Brooklyn without him even realizing it. There were people in the streets and fireworks going off all around him and traffic everywhere and everything kind of just blurred together in his mind as inescapable and unbearable noise and nothing seemed to help him shake off his panicked fear. The combination of all of this is more than likely what led to him totally not noticing a man crossing the street before him, causing him to swerve hard to the right and straight into the previously mentioned lamp post.

       Before Bucky had even realized, a man had dragged him out of his burning car and between there and ending up in what he thought was a hospital, all he could remember was an eerily familiar voice telling him that he would be okay.

___

       "Ugh, fuck. Where am I?" Bucky moaned as he opened his eyes.

       "Nice to see that you're finally awake," a familiar voice cut through the air, annoyance hinting through their tone. Bucky blinked his eyes to adjust to the bright morning light that flooded the room. He tried his best to ignore the waves of pain that flowed through him as he slowly drifted back into consciousness. He turned his head to his left to see his friend and now business partner leaning against the wall beside the door of the room a few feet away from himself.

       "So my plane lands this morning and all is well in the world. The airport is calm, my driver arrived on time, I even stopped to get some coffee and there wasn't a line in sight. But when I stop by your condo to pick you up before our very first meeting, you aren't outside waiting. So what do I do?" T'Challa says with his arms unfolding and he walked across the room to stand at Bucky's bedside.

       "What did you do?" Bucky responds after a long pause, with his eye brow cocked slightly. 

       "Well, I'll tell you what I did," his friend says with a smile that was blatantly passive aggressive. "I go inside, the doorman lets me in without question, and I take the elevator up to your floor. But all I find inside your mess of a home is a bunch of wrecked furniture, food and empty wine bottles everywhere, countless naked strangers, and no James Barnes in sight."

       "No, don't call me James," Bucky groaned and made a face of disgust. "You sound like my father whenever he got pissed at me."

       "Good, because I am pissed at you," T'Challa said irritably. "Today was supposed to the day you signed all of the papers and became the new CEO of Barnes Prosthetics.  James, this isn't one of those times where I can just claim you're too sick to leave home and take care of the mess for you like I would normally. You need to show up at the press conference in twenty minutes to sign those papers. I can't sign them for you. You're just going to have to do it looking like the mess you are, I don't care. But we have to go."

       Bucky sat up, propped his elbows on his knees and held his face in his hands. "I didn't crash my car on purpose you know. I was just trying to get away from-- wait, how did you even find me here?" He said suddenly, looking up with questioning eyes.

       "It wasn't that hard. Every news channel and radio station is talking about how the famed Bucky Barnes is currently bunked up in some non-profit free clinic in the middle of Brooklyn. The whole world thinks you're dying on the day you're supposed to take your father's company," T'Challa responded, still clearly annoyed.

       "Free clinic? The ambulance couldn't have been decent enough to take me to an actual hospital?" Bucky responded with disdain obvious in his voice and in his expression.

       "Oh calm down, the worst injury you have is a gash on your forehead. You're fine, you giant child," his older friend responded, crossing his arms once more. "Besides, it wasn't even an ambulance that took you in. It was the doctor who you nearly killed before destroying that poor lamp post."

       "Excuse you, I didn't 'nearly kill' anyone. He nearly killed me by just walking into the middle of the street without paying attention," Bucky declared with a wide gesture of his right hand.

       "You were speeding down the street, James. You-- Ugh, we don't have time for this. We have to leave. Now. So I'm going to go get your doctor, let him know you're awake and all that. Then we're out of here. Try to clean up a bit, okay? There's a bathroom right through that door," the tall man said, giving a wave towards a small door on the other side of the room before walking out.

       "Stop calling me James!!" Bucky tried to shout, but the door was shut before he could even finish his plea. He just gave a sigh and shook his head as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He stood slowly, making sure T'Challa was right and he didn't actually have any incredibly horrible injuries. After a few quiet moments went by and Bucky hadn't collapsed to the ground, he decided that it was safe for him to walk to the bathroom. He opened the door to the obviously poorly kept bathroom (the sink was old and the faucet was rusty, and the mirror had such a fog to it that it almost appeared as if someone actually had a hot shower running nearby). He squeezed into the small space available and stood before the mirror to see that his suit jacket was gone and his white dress shirt was open and had drops of blood dotted all the way down the front. He did have a huge gash across his forehead as he was told, but it was clearly cleaned out and stitched up nicely. He had a scrape or two on his nose and cheekbones but otherwise he was fine, besides a slight stiffness in his neck. He turned in front of the mirror so that he could examine his back and arms. He slipped off his shirt so he could double check though, his torso was completely intact from what he could see. His right arm was totally fine, maybe just a little sore at the most. His left arm wasn't damaged a bit, but that was to be expected from a prosthetic made entirely of vibranium. With his inspection completed, he slipped his shirt back on and was careful to button each button before tucking his shirt into his suit pants.

       He made his way back into the main part of the tiny room and scanned it for his missing shoes and suit jacket. He spotted them neatly placed on a dingy looking chair in the corner of the room. Bucky was in the middle of getting his second shoe on when there was a knock at the door and the twist of the knob.

       "James, I'm back with the doctors. They refused to let me take you until they made sure you were actually okay," T'Challa announced as he opened the door and allowed the two doctors to follow him inside the room.

       "We just want to make sure you don't have a concussion or anything like that," said the first doctor. He was a black man, and wore a lab coat and a very kind smile. The other doctor stood there quietly, eyes glued to the floor before him. He honestly didn't even look like a doctor, Bucky probably wouldn't have known that he were one if T'Challa hadn't said so. He didn't wear a lab coat like the other doctor, and didn't much look like he wanted to be there at all.

       "I don't have a concussion, I'm fine. And I'm sorry doctor... whoever you are, but we really need to get going. We're running late for a very important meeting." Bucky said as he looked back down again, finishing tying the laces of his second dress shoe.

       "Yes, I know. Your friend told me. It's very urgent, apparently. But Mr. Barnes we have to be cautious," the same doctor said. "I'm Dr. Wilson by the way. My friend here is the one who brought you in," Dr. Wilson said as he approached Bucky with a hand held out. Bucky took it, shaking his hand firmly but keeping his eyes on the other doctor. He was a very tall man with a very big build. He looked almost like he could be a body builder with the way his arms stretched the sleeves of his jacket so tightly. He still refused to look up at Bucky though, and it left a strange feeling in his gut.

       "So you're the man I almost ran over," Bucky said after an awkward pause and a glance at T'Challa who only gestured at his watch. Bucky rolled his eyes.

       "Er, yes. Thanks for not killing me," the man said with a nervous chuckle that only made the strange feeling in Bucky's gut grow larger. He took a step towards him, holding his hand out to shake his hand as well.

       "Thanks for taking me to your clinic," Bucky said in response. The doctor finally looked up at him as he took his hand to shake it. His strikingly blue eyes left him almost speechless.

       "I'm Dr. Rogers, me and Dr. Wilson run the clinic," Dr. Rogers said with a small smile. That strange feeling in Bucky's gut? It took over his entire being at the sight of that glowing smile.

       "Alright!" T'Challa clapped his hands together, bringing all the eyes in the room to look at him. Bucky let go of Dr. Rogers hand. "It's been so nice talking to you two, really. But I think we can all agree that Bucky here does not in fact have a concussion and that he should be free to go, yes? Good, good, because we have a very important meeting we need to get to. So we're very grateful for your help and we'll be sure to leave a considerable donation to your clinic and all that," the man continued in a mock-cheerful voice as he grabbed hold of Bucky's wrist and and took the younger man's suit jacket off the chair where it was resting and began to head towards the door.

       "But wait we should do a proper exam--," Dr. Wilson began, but was cut off with a wave of 'goodbye' from T'Challa as he and Bucky exited the room.

       "Well that was kind of rude," Bucky mumbled as he was rushed through the crowded halls of the small free clinic.

       "We're supposed to be at that press conference five minutes ago, I don't have time for your idle chitchat with those doctors. You'll never see them again anyway," was the only response he was given as they exited the building and quickly hurried to the black SUV that was waiting for them outside. Bucky followed his friend into the car, sinking down in his seat once they were safely inside. The car took off almost immediately, stressing the fact that they were in a rush. 

       "How did you even end up so far from Manhattan anyway?" T'Challa said, breaking their momentary silence as he handed Bucky his gray suit jacket.

       Bucky sat up a bit, allowing himself room to put on his jacket as he shrugged at the curious comment. "I just wanted to go for a drive. I didn't want to be at the party anymore," he said plainly, realizing suddenly that he was in fact extremely hungover.

       "Was it the PTSD again? Bucky, you can't keep putting yourself in these situations. Especially when I'm not around. There's no one else who can--" T'Challa started saying as concern overwhelmed his voice, but Bucky cut him off.

       "I just needed a distraction. The pressure from this meeting and everything else was killing me. I didn't think anyone was stupid enough to set off fireworks from the balcony," he said angrily, hoping his friend knew that his anger wasn't directed towards him.

       "Just promise me you'll be more careful? We don't want a repeat of last summer," the black man said quietly, hand reaching out to briefly squeeze Bucky's knee.

       Bucky only nodded as he gave a small, and albeit weak, smile to his friend. They were quiet for a few minutes after that. Bucky was left staring out his window, watching Brooklyn pass them by as T'Challa was preoccupied with his phone. It wasn't until they finally exited this part of the city that Bucky broke their silence once more.

       "You know that one doctor, the one who brought me to the clinic?" he began, his eyes still locked on the scenery of the passing city. T'Challa looked up at his friend, with an eyebrow raised ever so slightly.

       "Yeah, he was a nice guy. Didn't seem like much of a doctor, but he gave the impression of being a good man. Why?"

       "I don't know," the veteran said. "There was something about him. He kind of reminded me of this kid I used to know when I lived in Brooklyn."

       "Was this kid a friend of yours?" T'Challa asked as he looked back down at his phone.

       "You could say that," Bucky said before delving into a daze of deep thought and old memories of a scrawny kid from Brooklyn called Steve Rogers.

**Author's Note:**

> yes i know everything is kind of vague and unexplained, but trust me you'll figure everything out in the later chapters!! but basically Bucky was a soldier, he lost his arm, and now he's the the future CEO of his father's prosthetics company. none of that makes sense right now probably but it will later i swear. also T'Challa is kind of like the co-founder of the company??? basically he provides the vibranium, the Barnes' provide the everything else involved. also T'Challa and Bucky are super close and have known each other for years and years and really T'Challa is his only friend. oh and Steve and Sam run a nonprofit free clinic because they have the biggest hearts in the whole world. okay that's all i'm explaining for right now the rest you have to read for yourselves!!!
> 
> (seriously though please give me some feedback, this is the first time i'm writing this pairing and i have this big chaptered fic in mind for this story and i just really want you guys to like it???? ahhhhhhhhhhhh)


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